


Risk

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [21]
Category: Alistair Petrie - Fandom
Genre: And Lesley made me do it., But... This is why people should come to cons., Gen, I mean... is it RPF?, Kinda?, RPF - Alistair Petrie, This has never happened... This is not going to happen... Probably, This is pure crack... Like crackier than GGH, i'm not even sorry, listen., this is just ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>We thought it would be a brilliant idea. We really did. After the last success, why not have wine and board games at every con? Why not indeed. I mean, you get to play a bit of operation with Mike Stamford (yes, yes, he’s a physician, not a surgeon… we’ll play duck hunt with John Watson and Monopoly with Mycroft to make up for it) so this time, we were well prepared and well sauced by the time the last panel released. But hell, we had a great table, great seats, great service, and a great game going… Sure, it’s a risk you have to take.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vanetti (lereya)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lereya/gifts), [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts).



We thought it would be a brilliant idea. We really did. After the last success, why not have wine and board games at every con? Why not indeed. I mean, you get to play a bit of operation with Mike Stamford (yes, yes, he’s a physician, not a surgeon… we’ll play duck hunt with John Watson and Monopoly with Mycroft to make up for it) so this time, we were well prepared and well sauced by the time the last panel released. But hell, we had a great table, great seats, great service, and a great game going… Sure, it’s a risk you have to take.

“Lesley, you can’t just sit in North America and amass an army!” Three complained.

Lesley grinned at the slowly expanding, miniature blue army. “Why not?! Maybe I’m an isolationist. Maybe I’m attempting to take back Europe. Besides. E is just totally hanging out in Australia!”

“Don’t knock my plans! Africa and Australasia are going to merge soon!” I tried not to snort my wine. I did have a mighty looking green army. “I just know better than to get involved in a land war in Asia!”

“See!” Lesley snapped her fingers. “We can learn from history too!”

“Not like you have much of a foothold there in Asia,” I gave a nod with my chin.

Three pouted at the bright orange pieces that strangely resembled Blob more than my recollection of the game thought appropriate. “I have Russia!”

“And I have the next Olympics!” Jam squealed. In her defense, South America was entirely yellow. “Whose turn?”

“Just drop another red infantry with the cluster there,” I gestured again, this time with my wine.

We all paused as the door to the conference room opened and the con goers poured out into the restaurant and bar space. I raised my glass and we cheersed to the fact that we had two fresh and full bottles on the table. And we had already bribed the bar staff into keeping us well hydrated.

“And what is going on over here?”

I craned my neck back to stare up at him. Bloody hell, he was tall.

“Risk.” Lesley and I managed to answer frankly and together.

“Oh my God,” Jam breathed.

“Jam, no,” I muttered.

“Who’s winning?” Al asked. It was an innocent enough question, but a dangerous supposition. This  _ was _ Risk.

Three swigged wine and smiled. “You’re the strategist, Sir. Why don’t you tell us.”

Both of his brows shot up, but dropped as he tilted his head to consider the board. “Fairly evenly matched,” he murmured then frowned. “Who’s the red player with their entire army piled in Afghanistan?”

I glanced at Lesley with a wry smile.

“Oh my God,” Jam hissed again and grabbed my arm.

Lesley raised a brow slowly and the chair in front of Al slid out from the table. “Major.”

I nearly bit through my tongue; it looked as though she’d been practicing that move all night. If I had to guess, the neon pink shade that Three was turning was a blush. And Jam was, quite possibly, hyperventilating.

“Not quite my preferred tactic.” His head tilted the other way as he continued to assess the board.

“Not the one who invaded Afghanistan,” I murmured into my wine.

“Alright.” He settled into the chair decisively. “I’ll bite. I assume the wine is complimentary?”

“Complementary,” Three corrected.

I snickered.

“Red or white?” Lesley offered.

“Oh. My. God.”

“No, Jam,” I tried to grab her arm before she fell over. Lesley reached across the board with a fresh glass of wine.

“So,” he said conversationally. “I’m Al.” 

“Ohmygod,” Jam breathed.

“Yes, you are.” I agreed.

He tipped his head toward Three. “I’ve met you before, certainly.”

Three nodded.

“Lesley.” I watched them shake hands.

“American?”

Lesley grinned. “Texan.”

“You look familiar.”

“Twitter.”

His cheeks colored slightly. Oh, he remembered her.

“I’m E,” I shook his hand. Jam was now actually hyperventilating. “And this barmy scone is J.”

He gave Jam a smile. That only worsened things. Then he squinted at me. “Not a Brit…”

“Ex-colonial,” I laughed. “In every complex sense of the word. And she’s,” I gestured to Jam.

“British?” he almost sounded hopeful.

“British?” Jam nearly threw her wine glass into the air.

“Oh Lord,” I groaned.

“Dinnae be a daft tattie! Ah’m nae English, ah’m fae Scotland!” Jam’s face colored as her volume built. “Far fooks sake! Faur aboots did ye think ah wis fae?!” I think she meant to lean over the table. Or maybe to stand up. Or shake her fist. But instead, her foot stumbled over the leg of her own chair and instead of forwards, Jam tilted back.

Jam’s arms pinwheeled as she tumbled backwards over her chair. Three lunged to snatch… her ankle? And missed, catching an elbow on the corner of the game board, launching the pieces straight up into the air. I snatched both bottles of wine by the neck, shoving back in my chair and scrambling to stand away from the raining bits of plastic. Even though Three missed Jam’s legs, Jam’s feet didn’t miss the underside of the table, and as she tumbled arse over tea kettle, the solid kick to the not-so-solid table tipped it over the other direction. Three squealed and rolled, landing momentarily in Lesley’s lap then on the floor in a duck and cover, tuck and roll maneuver that would leave Heimlich jealous. Opposite that, as her chair hit the ground, Jam managed to flip over her shoulder. It would have been a perfect dismount if not for her momentum, and she tumbled further, landing flat on her back with a breathless squeak as the last of the pieces settled on the ground.

The whole restaurant had gone silent.

I bit down on my lower lip. Jam and Three were both sprawled on the floor. There were game pieces liberally littering the ground. The table had come to a stop tucked under the neighboring table, leaving emptiness in the center of what had been our game, a crater of negative space. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Lesley was still in her chair, cool as cucumber. Al had also managed to remain in his chair, though he looked… startled. Lesley sipped her wine and smiled. “Welcome to your first con.”

He grinned back. “What makes you think it’s my first?”

“Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere.” I looked at Jam, doing her best impression of a starfish and grinning like the mad tatty she was. “Alright?”

“International incident!” she cried.

I burst out laughing. Three and Jam were close behind, giggling unapologetically from the floor. Lesley simply smiled as we tried to catch our breaths.

“Right, so…” I bit back the last of the chuckles. “Whose turn is it now?”


End file.
